The Company Man
by hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Moriarty's back, and Molly Hooper has a target painted on her chest. Fortunately for her however, Mary has decided to call in a favour from a former... associate, one even Mycroft admires. Sherlock is not at all impressed with the hairy, aggressive, irritatingly naked Canadian in Molly's flat, but what is he to do? It seems Molly rather likes having the git around...
1. Secret Agent Man

_Disclaimer: _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Takes place after HLV, should be canon-compliant up until that point. Not related to the "_No Capes!_" universe, I'm afraid, though I will be heading back there soon. Enjoy!

* * *

\- **SECRET AGENT MAN**_ -_

* * *

"He won't hurt you."

It's the first thing that Mary says when she brings Molly to meet Logan.

"I know he looks like… well, trouble," the new Mrs Watson says, "and I can guarantee that he _is_, but he won't hurt you, Molly.

You have my word on that."

And she smiles at Logan, waves from across the little Camden pub they've elected to meet in (apparently it's one of the few in London that he's never been barred from.) Molly watches as the crowd parts like the Red Sea to allow the short, dark-haired man through. _Even the decidedly tough-looking blokes cut him a wide berth. _The pathologist's eyes widen as she takes him in, surprised by how, well, how small and hairy and surprisingly inconspicuous the best security specialist Mary knows actually _is_.

When he reaches them he takes Mary's hand, smiles warmly. His look to Molly is quick. Polite- surprisingly so- but not at all assessing.

_For some reason she feels a little disappointed. _

"Good t'see you again, shark bait," he says dryly instead, smiling at the other woman. "Tasha told me t'say hello."

Mary beams. "And how is she? How's Clint?"

"Still mad about Budapest." Logan's smile turns wry. "He's claiming you shoulda worn a wire and it all wouldn'ta gone to Hell." He shakes his head. "Moron."

Mary snorts in amusement. "Well, it's nice to know he's still delusional," she says. She takes a sip of her drink, gestures to the barman to give Logan the same. He cocks an eyebrow at her- "marriage making you presumptuous, darlin'?"- but she merely shrugs. Gestures to Molly as the drink arrives.

"This is the friend I was telling you about," she says. "This is Molly. Molly Hooper, this is Logan." She takes another sip of her drink, her eyes mischievous. "He's like a supermodel, I'm afraid: He doesn't have a surname."

Logan shoots Mary a cocked eyebrow. "Hey now, that's unfair darlin'," he tells her. "I could be an eighties pop star too, ya know I'm pretty enough." He holds out his hand to Molly as Mary laughs. "Pleasure to meet you," he tells Molly. "Don't believe a word this one says about me."

And he takes her hand as Mary scoffs, envelopes it in a surprisingly firm grip.

His hands are large. Warm. Unexpectedly hairy. The contact sends a jolt of… something through Molly, something exacerbated by the easy grin he gives her, and for the first time since that bloody message featuring Jim appeared a week ago Molly feels herself relax.

Maybe it shows on her face, because this time Logan does look at her. A quick, peering little look that should seem assessing, or sexual, but doesn't.

He keeps her hand in his a moment longer and squeezes her fingers, grins when Molly squeezes back. Then he reaches for the beer Mary bought him, takes a sip.

"Strong grip," he says, and the words are addressed to both women. "Those fingers'll be able for a blade," he says. "Maybe even a hunting knife."

Molly shakes her head. "I don't- I don't want to use a knife on living people," she says, shooting a _help me _look at Mary. "On dead people I don't mind-" _Lord, _she thinks, _how terrible does that sound?- _"I mean, I'm a pathologist, I use scalpels but on corpses, which is what I'm supposed to do- and I always do the paperwork, I'm very professional-"

Molly knows she's babbling: _It__'__s her birthright, dammit, she__'__s British_.

She assumes Logan will scold her- he's the Secret Agent Man, after all- but he doesn't.

He just smiles this calm little smile, and nods.

"Hey, take it easy," he tells her. "I can teach you something besides the blade, if that's what you want." He sits back, takes another sip of his drink. Everything about his body language is relaxed. Calming. Molly can't help but suspect that he's doing it on purpose. "Enjoy your drink," he says, "and then you can show me where I'll be working: I'll walk you home and check the place tonight."

Molly nods, relieved- _isn__'__t it nice to talk to a man who doesn__'__t treat you like you__'__re a moron?_ a voice inside her head whispers. She shoots a look at Mary and her friend is grinning. It belatedly occurs to her that this little meeting might be about more than just her personal safety routine, and she thinks that if that's the case then maybe, just maybe, Mary Watson might be her favourite person in the world right now.

* * *

He walks her home and the entire time she doesn't think a single thing about Sherlock Holmes.

_Well, aside from the usual stuff._

And when she invites him in, shows him the spare room in which he'll be sleeping while he works out her new security routine, it's nice to get a smile, to hear a please and thank you. She goes to bed humming happily.

She might have known- given her history- that such peace is not going to last.


	2. Nothing Says I Love You

_Disclaimer: _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Poodle warriors, Reina434, kraftykathy, Ballykissangel and my mystery guest.

* * *

\- **NOTHING SAYS "I LOVE YOU," LIKE BREAKING AND ENTERING **-

* * *

The first time there's trouble, Sherlock's let himself into her flat again.

They've reached a sort of civilised détente since his drugs test- he even deigned to apologise for how he spoke to her- and for that reason, she allows him to come and go almost as he pleases. There are rules, of course: if he has any indication that she has someone over then he can't come in.

She's learned her lesson after Tom- Sherlock Holmes and the men in her life don't mix.

Since he takes pride in his ability to deduce what's going on with her so easily however, he obliges her by making the promise. She can tell just by looking at him that he assumes it will never be a problem.

_Either Molly will never have any male guests over, or Sherlock will spot it well in advance. _

He must not count on Logan though because unfortunately one night, as he's innocently letting himself into the flat through her bathroom window (he's taken it off its hinges), he finds himself yanked inside by the scruff of his Belstaff and laid into by one furious, half-naked hairy Canadian who appears in the dim light to be carrying about ten knives in his hands-

Molly learns two lessons from this. One: Sherlock, though able to take care of himself, is apparently no match for an angry man half his size who thinks he's a burglar (he still claims that Logan merely took him by surprise, but even kind-hearted Molly has her doubts).

And secondly, Logan sleeps naked. Absolutely, gloriously naked. (The man can afford to. In fact, if Molly had her way he might never wear clothes again).

She wouldn't perhaps have noted this if Sherlock hadn't told her to roll her tongue back into her head as the Canadian stalked back to his bedroom, hissing under his breath in a language that sounds a little bit like Japanese and a lot like cursing.

The look he shoots Sherlock as he pulls his bedroom door closed is positively murderous.

"New man?" Sherlock asks disdainfully as her (admittedly appreciative) gaze follows Logan back to his own room. "Never had you pegged as the sort who liked a bit of rough, Molly."

There's something about the condescending way he says it, the sheer… sneeriness to his voice, that irritates Molly profoundly.

She blames this for what she says next, and for the way in which it comes out.

"Well, maybe I'm just sick and tired of posh, well-behaved idiots who wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she appeared on their doorstep gift-wrapped," she snaps, earning a wide-eyed look from Sherlock. "Maybe I'd just like someone who knows what he wants, did you ever think of that, eh?"

And she rocks back on her heels, crossing her arms. (She can't help it if she's tired and grumpy).

The detective blinks at her, opens his mouth to answer and then closes it.

He draws himself up to his (not inconsiderable) height and glowers down his nose at her.

"If all that it takes to impress you are muscles and a lack of self-control then clearly you've hit the jackpot with your friend there," he says severely. His expression holds the faintest, most insultingly scornful trace of pity, his hands balling into fists at his side. "One can only assume that you and the caveman will be very happy- for as long as it takes you to loose his interest, that is."

And with that he shoots her a last, disdainful look and sweeps back out of the flat. _The Belstaff, of course, billows after him_.

He does not, it must be noted, put her window back on its hinges before he goes, but then Molly didn't really expect him to.

When he's gone she sighs and manages to wedge the frame into the window-jam, wondering how she could ever sleep with it like that. The draft is turning the flat freezing, and she knows having the window open would be tantamount to pinning a sign on the front door saying _Attention Thieves: Please Burgle At Will. _But though she knows this, she wants more than anything to get back to sleep and she doesn't see how she can do that-

A hand appears behind her, and in it she finds a cup of… cocoa?

_When did anyone make cocoa?_

She turns to see Logan standing beside her, in tracksuit bottoms now and pulling a second cup of- presumably- cocoa, from the microwave. His expression is sympathetic.

He gestures to the disassembled window with a cup of his own.

"Your ex is an asshole," he tells her, taking a long draft of his drink. "But I can fix that."

Molly blinks at him, surprised.

"Sherlock's not my ex- We've- We've never been out together," she stammers, her eyes dropping to the kitchen counter. "He's- We're- We're friends," she settles on finally.

Her voice sounds pathetic, even to her.

"Friends?" Logan asks.

The word positively drips scepticism.

"Yes, friends," she says quietly. "I mean, I used to think so. But ever since my engagement broke up he's been… Well, he's been rather horrible."

Logan cocks an eyebrow at her in surprise and she hastens to explain.

"Oh, not that- I mean, I know he has a lot on his mind. And I know he's trying to keep everyone safe and bring down Moriarty again and everything. But ever since he found out about me and Tom he's been really, really moody and unpredictable-"

Interest sparks in Logan's expression. "He didn't like you boyfriend?" he asks, and the tone is too casual to actually be disinterested.

Molly frowns at it, shakes her head. "No," she says. "Mary told me he used to call him, "Meat Dagger."" At Logan's inquisitive look she shrugs. "Something rather silly Tom once said in front of him at a wedding. Sherlock apparently took it as an indication of how he always talked, and how intelligent he was."

Logan folds himself onto her sofa. "And was it?" he asks. He's peering at her rather oddly.

Molly frowns, not liking where this is going. She still feels no small amount of guilt for what happened with Tom, and she doesn't like the notion of his intelligence being insulted when he's not even here to defend himself.

"Tom was a lovely person," she says quietly. "He just wasn't terribly clever in the way that Sherlock is." She frowns. "Although, nobody's clever in the way Sherlock is," she adds, "Except for his brother, Mycroft-"

Logan nods thoughtfully. "So this Sherlock guy didn't like your last boyfriend, doesn't like the idea that I'm sleeping here, and pretty much comes and goes from your flat whenever he pleases, but never makes a move?"

Molly nods. "When you put it like that… It sounds like he-" She shakes her head, unwilling to finish the thought. _It__'__s too ridiculous_. "Sherlock's just a very special sort of a person," she says instead. "He doesn't handle change well, and finding you here is just a bit more change than he's used to-"

Logan smiles- no, he smirks- and nods. Takes another sip of his cocoa. "If that's what you think, darlin'" he says. "But I gotta say, I don't agree with you."

Molly opens her mouth to argue but he holds up his hands in placation, stopping her. "You go and get some rest," he says. "I'll finish up here and patch up that window when I'm done."

"Don't you need your rest too?" Molly asks quietly, but Logan merely smiles. Shakes his head.

"You'd be surprised how little sleep I need, darlin'," he says. "Now go turn in- I'll sort this out, don't you worry."

Molly drains the last of her cocoa and washes out the cup, puts it in the sink. Suddenly she's feeling awfully tired of this conversation.

"If you need anything, you know where I am," she says and Logan smiles. Nods to her.

"I'll bear that in mind," he says. "Now go get some shut-eye."

Molly trails into her room, unable to shake the feeling that something's happened. But though she's intrigued, she falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

The last thing she hears is Logan's voice, speaking quietly and rapidly to someone he calls, "Jubes," and she doesn't know why, but his tone makes her smile.


	3. The Way To A Man's Heart

_Disclaimer: _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to LadyK1138, likingthistoomuch, QueenOfTheGingers, Reina434 and Katya Jade.

* * *

\- **THE WAY TO A MAN'S HEART IS STRAIGHT THROUGH HIS CHEST -**

* * *

By the time she wakes the next day, the window's been repaired.

Molly pads out of her room in her comfiest, fluffiest housecoat in to find her flat warm, secure, and smelling of… maple syrup?

She frowns, makes her way over to the cooker where she finds Logan making pancakes. The smell is both mouth-watering and slightly cloying; That much sugar in the morning might well make her blind, she thinks. She's not sure she'll be able to stomach it.

_Since __**everyone**__ knows that breakfast is for healthy things like eggs and coffee, _a voice in her head which sounds unconscionably like Sherlock points out tartly. _How health-conscious, Ms. Hooper. _

Molly elects to ignore this voice, as she would its owner (were he present) and instead makes her way into the kitchen. Logan grins when he sees her.

"Good, darlin', you're up," he says. "Made you breakfast."

His smile turns warmer as he says it and despite herself, Molly can't help but suspect that he's up to something.

_Certain girly- slightly tingly- parts of her anatomy agree with her. _

His expression reminds her of a particularly mischievous little boy.

She seats herself though, murmurs a thanks and tucks in, rather than investigate either the smile or her own reaction to it. She supposes she can't really complain, if he's made her breakfast- It's a long time since anyone's done that.

So she smiles at him. Pours him some coffee. He doles the pancakes out onto her plate and hands her the bottle of syrup, starts eating without any prompting. Molly follows suit; It's surprisingly good, though she knows she'd never be able to eat like this all the time. _It__'__s practically a coronary in a pan._ For a moment there's nothing but silence and the sound of cutlery on plates, but then-

"So, I've been thinking about that asshole who's nuts about you," Logan announces nonchalantly after a moment. "Think I might be able to do something about it."

Molly nearly chokes on her forkful of pancake, her eyes going wide.

She manages to take a swig of her coffee, washing the food down, and then clears her throat. She's aiming for unruffled when she finally speaks.

_She does not, it should be noted, succeed. _

"Are you talking about Sherlock?" she asks, her voice a little strangled, and Logan's grin widens.

It looks unconscionably mischievous now.

"If that's the idiot who broke in here last night then yeah, I'm talking about Sherlock. Don't think there's anyone else I could be talking about." The other man frowns, thinking. "Though, gotta say: Ain't all that surprised he ended up with that stick up his ass, name like _Sherlock-_"

"It's a family name." Molly can feel the blush rising to her face, so much so that she stands, takes her plate (still half full) to the sink and makes to empty it, all just to have something to do. She cannot have this conversation with anyone, least of all someone big and hairy and handsome who seems to think the situation with Sherlock is something he can tease her over, something of a joke.

And joking is what he's obviously doing; Nobody in their right mind would seriously imply that Sherlock Holmes was, "nuts about her."

_Arsehole, yes, _she thinks. _Smitten arsehole, no. __**Alas**__._ And Logan has to know that, she explained everything last night-

At the thought she stills, one hand still preparing to scrape her leftover pancake into the bin, her throat closing up and her eyes getting surprisingly… shiny. Wet. She's- God, she's actually tearing up.

She swears softly to herself, hating that such a little joke has effected her so much that she's nearly crying- _She feels like a bloody three year old- _

For a split second she tries to hold herself together- tries to act like a damn _adult_\- but then she feels the plate and fork taken from her grip. Logan sets them aside of the sink to the right of her. She turns to him, opening up her mouth to answer him but she doesn't get the chance.

Instead he folds her into his embrace- he's a great deal closer to her height than Sherlock- and suddenly, suddenly, she feels… She feels safe. She feels wanted. _It__'__s absolutely lovely_.

He just holds onto her for a very long beat and she… _She just lets him_.

For a moment she's surprised at her own reaction. But she supposes she shouldn't be, it's a long time since she's had anyone to comfort her in her feelings for Sherlock Holmes.

Logan doesn't say anything, just tightens his grip and rocks her slightly. Lets her rest her cheek on his chest and listen to the faint sound of his heart. For a few minutes silence reigns in her kitchen, and then-

"Looks like your friend Sherlock's not the only asshole, huh?" Logan says.

Molly blinks and looks up at him, surprised by how… chagrined he sounds. She's not really used to handsome men admitting they've cocked things up in front of her.

But then, the only handsome man she normally deals with is the arsehole they were just discussing, and Hell would freeze over before _he_ admitted he might be wrong about something.

_And he__'__ll never even consider that he might be wrong about her. _

Molly summons a small smile, tries to make light of the situation. "Sorry, just… It's sort of a sore subject, really."

She pulls herself away from Logan, she smile turning more awkward.

He lets her go without a fuss.

"I had this really silly little crush on Sherlock a long time ago," she says, "and well, well everyone knew. And I do mean everyone. But it didn't matter- I mean, we were friends, but there was never any more to it. Sherlock doesn't- He wouldn't, not with _me_-"

Logan interrupts. "Hate to disagree with a lady, but you're wrong there."

She frowns at him, curious, and he shrugs. Releases her to lean back on her kitchen table, those massive arms crossed against his chest.

Molly has to remind herself to listen, as the sight is actually rather… distracting.

"Look, Mols," Sherlock says, and she can't help it, she smiles a little at the use of a nickname which, when Tom said it, drove her to distraction. "How much did shark-bait- eh, Mary, tell you about me?"

Again, Molly frowns. _That wasn__'__t what she__'__d expected_. "Mary told me you were the best security specialist she knew," she says evenly. "Now that Moriarty's back, she said I needed someone watching out for me- Sherlock wanted his brother Mycroft to put a security detail on me but Mary said you'd be better-"

Logan gives a cynical snort. "I just bet she did." Molly opens her mouth to ask for clarification but he speaks over her. "Best not get into that now though."

He gives her a long, assessing glance.

"Look, short version is, there's a lot o' reasons I'm good at my job, darlin'," he says eventually. "I'm tough as nails, I'm older than dirt, and you never, _ever_ wanna get on my bad side. People in me'n Mary's line of work accept that as gospel."

Molly nods. "I'll take your word for it."

Logan nods back, gives her a sharp grin. "Damn straight." His expression softens. _For a moment he looks a good deal younger than he actually is_. "But the main thing about me is, I got, uh,… gifts. I'm- I'm not like your friend Sherlock, but I ain't normal either. And one of the not-normal things I got is, I can tell when someone's lying. I can- I can smell it on 'em."

Mary cocks one, quizzical eyebrow. "Is that a metaphor?"

For a moment Logan's gaze is dark. Haunted. And then the moment passes and he's the laidback man she's always known again.

"Treat it as a metaphor if you like," he says. "Just know, nobody can lie to me. I know. I _always_ know. And when I dragged your friend in here last night and he assumed we were having a sleepover, well, baby boy's reaction wasn't worry. He was jealous. Really, really jealous." At Molly's disbelieving look he shrugs. "Trust me, darlin'," he says. "Envy's got a stink you can't mistake-

And your Little Sherlock was practically drowning in it."

Now it's Molly's turn to cross her arms. "But that makes no sense," she points out. "He knows- He knows how I feel about him. He even knows why my engagement to Tom broke up-" _Thanks in part to a very drunken, very abusive phone-call from Tom to Sherlock over the New Year_. "Why would Sherlock not do anything about his feelings, if he had them?" she asks. "Why wouldn't he just come to the point?"

Logan shrugs. "He's a Brit, and he's posh, and he's one of those Goddamn brainiac types. Those guys never know how to man up and make with the feelings-" He winces at that and shakes his head, mutters something about spending too much time with someone called Jubilee. "But that ain't the point. The point is that I can help you with this, if you want. If you want him, that is."

Molly is baffled. "Why would you care?"

_Seriously, wouldn't a man in his line of work have other things to be thinking about? _

But Logan shrugs, his eyes dropping to the floor. Suddenly he looks… He looks surprisingly vulnerable.

"I know what it's like to want someone who don't want you," he says quietly. "I got… I got a lot of experience with that." He takes a deep, bracing breath. _Now _he looks up at her, and that calm, hazel gaze makes her stomach twist slightly. He's handsome alright, but there's more to it than that.

He looks… _He looks like Molly __**feels**__. _

"But just because Marie don't want me, that don't mean you shouldn't be with someone who wanta you," he's continues quietly after a moment. "This Sherlock guy's an idiot, but if he's what you want then we can do something about that. If you want- Only if you want."

Suddenly that sharp, bright smile reappears.

"Besides, by the time I'm through with you, this Moriarty dick won't be able to touch you, and this Sherlock dick won't know what hit him- What d'ya say?"

Molly looks at him assessingly, wondering whether he can really be right. Whether this can possibly be a good idea. Wondering whether, more than anything, this isn't some sort of scheme or joke or, or, something. Whether Logan is imagining things.

_It simply can't be as straightforward as he's making it out to be. _

But then she thinks about the look in his eyes as he mentioned that girl, that Marie who doesn't want him, and she decides that Logan wouldn't be as cruel as to trick her about her feelings for Sherlock. Not when he knows how painful unrequited love feels. And he certainly doesn't strike her as the sort of man it's easy to lie to. So she smiles. Nods. "Would you like some more coffee?" she asks. "And then maybe… Maybe we can chat about what you have in mind?"

Logan lets out a sharp bark of laughter and nods, and the pair of them sit back down together.

He makes some more pancakes, and they begin to plot and plan.


	4. It's All Fun And Games

_Disclaimer: _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to laly, LadyK1138, kraftykathy, Reina434, Katya Jade, Poodle warriors and Brytte-Mystere. Enjoy!

* * *

\- **IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE TRIPS ON THE ****"****SCHADENFREUDE,****"****-**

* * *

Logan, as it turns out, is absolutely and utterly shameless when it comes to plotting.

He claims it comes from spending most of his time around his "girls,"- Jubilee, Kitty and the afore-mentioned Marie Who Doesn't Want Him, (who for some reason he usually calls Rogue), as well as the amount of time he spends around someone called, "Ororo."

"And let me tell you, you don't wanna get on that one's bad side," he tells her. "It might be more dangerous than mine."

Molly can't really imagine such a thing, so she snorts and tells him she won't with mock seriousness.

The grin he shoots her is pure heat and she swears she feels it right down to her toes.

Rather than examine that notion though, Molly asks him what he has in mind, and he immediately lists a set of behaviours which even Molly can tell will infuriate Sherlock. It mainly involves touching her when they're around him (she approves), being in a state of undress whenever he's around her or the detective (she really approves) and showing her the sort of consideration which, quote, "A man oughta show a gorgeous woman like you," unquote.

Molly couldn't approve of _that_ more if it had dark curls, a sharp mind and was wearing nothing but a Belstaff.

"Yeah," Logan grins, "and that's the point. You may approve, but your boy ain't gonna."

Molly can feel a blush fighting its way up to her cheeks as she waggles her eyebrows at him.

"I thought that was the purpose of the exercise?" she asks, and Logan laughs out loud, gives her another incendiary grin. She's never really understood how a smile could smoulder before.

"That's my girl," he says, and in that moment Molly thinks he might be right.

But she doesn't want to complicate things, and she certainly doesn't want to get involved with Logan. Anything more than a professional relationship with the man who's supposed to be protecting her is a bad idea (she's seen _The Bodyguard, _and has no desire for _I Will Always Love You _to become the soundtrack to her life. Or her funeral). And besides, she doesn't think it would be fair to him: She sees the way his expression wavers when he speaks of his Marie, and she fancies that he'd find a romance as discombobulating as she would-

So with that in mind Molly puts romance firmly from her thoughts and sets out instead to make an almighty show of her supposed relationship with Logan. Mary and social media will both be excellent help in this, and soon he's sure everyone will have heard of her new man. She also shares her schedule for the next week, giving Logan as much information as she can about when and if Sherlock will turn up at St. Bart's. He's taking to turning up at odd hours, something she had attributed to his need for stimulation but which she is now willing to allow may be to see her.

"Gotta say, I agree with you," Logan tells her. "Getting in your space, keeping an eye on you but not putting on the big boy undies and owning up. Sounds like his MO." His grin turns positively feral. "But trust me, by the time we're through baby boy ain't gonna know what hit him-"

An analysis which turns out to be 100% spot on, for Sherlock _and _for Molly.

Because when Logan insists on accompanying her to work the next day, he's wearing a pair of jeans which look, frankly, painted on, and the tightest, whitest vest Molly has ever seen. He looks… Molly's fairly sure the technical term is, "edible." _Or possibly, "yummy." _A quick status update on face-book mentioning a new admirer, sets the scene;Mycroft sends a car for her every morning, and the look of wide-eyed appreciation which the young woman driving it shoots Logan is enough to convince Molly that she's onto a winning strategy, the impression growing as pretty much every female head in St. Bart's turns to watch Logan pass-

As if used to the attention- and in fairness he probably _is_\- the Canadian takes her hand, loops her arms through his and shoots her a wink as Mycroft's agent bustles them through the busy door of the hospital before leaving them.

Every woman who witnesses this seems to turn green with envy- As do some of the men.

It's glorious: By the time they reach Molly's office, she feels like she's walking next to a supermodel- No, _she_ feels like she is a supermodel. It's not the sort of thing she's ever really experienced before, and the attention is making her quite giddy.

Logan seems to not only know this but to approve, because as she swipes her way into the morgue he leans down, his hand resting possessively on her hip, and starts whispering mischievous little things in her ear that make her flush and giggle. Not really paying attention, Molly pushes the door inwards, opening it fully, and as she does so she turns back to whisper something equally naughty in Logan's ear, her eyes trained on his-

Which is why she doesn't realise that Sherlock's standing right in front of the morgue door.

(He will never admit this, but he had been listening at it).

It's also why it takes her a fateful second to register quite what that _ga-dunk! _Sound she's just heard was.

(It was a Sherlock-on-door smack-down. Literally.)

There's a hiss of pain, a string of colourful swear words and she looks up to see Sherlock holding his bloodied nose, his expression somewhere between self-righteous fury and little-boy betrayal as he takes in Molly and Logan-

"Oh Sherlock," Molly says, instantly leaving Logan's side and making her way towards the detective. The young pathologist can't help it, she feels a massive stab of guilt overtake her. "I didn't see you there- Are you ok?"

"Noo I nloody nook ok?" he manages to snap out between trying to tip his head back and staunch the flow of blood. "Naut ner noo ninking?"

And he shoots Logan a filthy look, showing well where he places the blame for his predicament.

Logan, being Logan, shoots him the biggest… Molly believes the phrase the Americans use is, "shit eating grin."

It's actually quite spectacular, and manages to somehow be both gorgeous and infuriating at the same time.

To Molly's amazement, Sherlock's hand twitches, as if he's thinking of striking the unarmed man.

"Sorry there, son," Logan rumbles. "Didn't see ya. Occupational hazard for a guy like you, huh?"

Sherlock draws himself up to his- not inconsiderable- height and glares down at the Canadian. "Naut is nat supponed no mean?" he bites out, with as much dignity as he can muster.

_It's really not that much. _

Logan's shit eating communicates that notion quite clearly.

His smile gets exponentially wider.

"Seems to me," he drawls, "you spend your life skulking around my girl here, you gotta accept that occasionally, you're gonna get hit. That's the second time you got hurt cuz I didn't see ya, skinny." He crosses his arms, does his best to look innocent. "Let's make sure it's the last."

"Niy non't nloody nink so!" And Sherlock, despite the blood flow and the pain in his nose, steps forward, unconsciously moving Molly behind him and essentially making himself into a wall between her and Logan.

He must know by now about Logan's reputation, but right now it looks like he doesn't give a damn.

Logan shoots the great detective his most condescending grin, infuriating the young man further. Sherlock's used to being the most dangerous person in any situation, Molly thinks uneasily, and it doesn't seem to have occurred to him that Logan can kick his arse.

She makes to move between them, trying to stop an altercation before it goes any further. The whole making Sherlock jealous thing seems silly now that things might actually come to blows. As she moves though Logan's grin widens, he grabs her. He pulls her playfully to him. Molly's body collides with his- the feeling is quite pleasant actually-

And with that Sherlock seems to see red.

The next bit happens awfully fast; Molly doesn't even see the other man move, just feels herself pushed aside by Logan as Sherlock rams himself, body first, into the other man. She manages to catch herself on one of the metal body trays though the impact winds her and she's fairly certain she'll have a nasty bruise tomorrow. She lets out a little "oof," of breath and the sound seems to distract Sherlock; He turns his head, instinctively makes a move towards her, a confused, distracted look on his face-

And that's when Logan's fist makes contact with his cheekbone.

The blow is unmercifully hard, sharp, and it knocks Sherlock for six.

For a moment Molly stares in horror: Sherlock actually… staggers. It looks like his head is swimming and Molly feels a horrible wave of guilt erupt within her, a wave of guilt she knows she won't be able to force away. Because it was supposed to be a joke, he wasn't supposed to be hurt. He was just supposed to get a little push into admitting how he feels about her. Even Logan looks a little guilty; He was just defending himself of course but his opponent's now badly injured and he'd have to be a complete arsehole not to feel something at _that_.

For a second there's only silence in the lab, Molly staring at Sherlock, Sherlock staring at Molly. Logan staring at both of them, not really knowing what to say. The pathologist reaches gingerly forward to look at Holmes' face while the detective skitters backwards and tries to regain his balance. He slams into to same metal body tray Molly hit, with similarly winding results. At this he finally stops trying to duck her, looks up into her face and what she sees there surprises her-

Because he looks embarrassed.

Insanely, acutely embarrassed.

The man who never gives a toss what anyone thinks of him now looks awfully shame-faced indeed- And without a moment's hesitation he gets up and rushes from the lab.

Molly may be imagining things, but she thinks she hears him murmur, "Sorry." as he goes.

"I know I bitch about the guy," Logan rumbles, "but I think for once, I'm with him."


	5. How To Make An Ass Of You And Of Me

_Disclaimer: _This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Thanks for their reviews go to Avenilia Pendrake, aryaputra, Cookie05, SammyKatz, ConsultingTimeLadyFromHogwarts, lavanyalabelle, defygravity99, Saskiamq, SirKris, KraftyKathy LadtK1138, Reina434, Poodle warriors, Katya Jade, patemalah21, likingthistoomuch, milkforsouffles and my mystery guests.

Apologies for the severe delay in updating this... It just fell off my radar for a while. But here's the penultimate chapter and the last should follow soon. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

~ **HOW TO MAKE AN ASS OF YOU AND OF ME ~**

* * *

Molly finds Sherlock eventually, on the roof of St. Bart's.

He's nicked what looks like the canteen first aid box and he's poking rather ineffectually at his nose.

The entire contents of the box are splayed around him, as if he'd simply taken it and turned it upside down in a fit. This impression is heightened by the way he's muttering angrily to himself, trying to clean the blood off himself merely by touch. (There's no reflective surface available to act as a mirror or guide).

Molly can't help but feel that he looks… odd like this. Vulnerable. Human. It's not something she often thinks of him as being.

The Belstaff suddenly seems rather big for him right now, billowing about in the breeze.

"Do you want a hand with that?" she asks quietly, stepping out onto the roof and closing the door behind her.

He freezes at her words and- to her surprise- red starts climbing up his neck. His cheekbones. The tips of his ears turn an absolutely remarkable shade of aubergine.

As she nears she sees him cross his arms petulantly, plonking the rag he was using on his nose onto the ground and setting his face into a thunderous pout (an expression which he then immediately has to change because it makes him wince in pain).

"Go away," he says truculently, rather than answer her question. "I don't want to talk to you-"

Molly is rather tempted to do as he suggests, if that's the tone he's going to use.

Maybe this shows on her face because he trails off, expression turning uncertain. _He really looks rather__…__ lost, in all this. _Taking a chance, she closes the space between them, picking her way through his upended first aid supplies before hunkering down and gathering up some plasters, holding out her hand for the tiny bottle of disinfectant he's gripping like a child might its teddy-bear.

"Do you want me to go?" she asks as he hands it over, his brows knit together quizzically.

She finds a clean box of cotton swabs, pulls it open and dabs some alcohol on one as she waits for him to answer, making it clear that her presence depends on him. She's half-convinced he'll say out of sheer stubbornness but instead he stays silent. Merely stares at her.

It's rather like having a conversation with Toby when he's feeling recalcitrant.

With a sigh she holds out swab and disinfectant, hands them back to him. _She should have known he was going to be like this_. "The blood is mainly here," she points to the corresponding area on her face. "I'm going to assume you've already checked whether anything is broken."

And she stands.

Makes to turn away.

His eyes flash, annoyance washing over his expression. Unfortunately that means scowling and scrunching together his eyebrows and both of those actions cause him pain, something which makes him give a half-hateful, half-comical wince.

Molly cocks one eyebrow and he cocks his back at her; She rolls her eyes, praying for patience, but as she makes to rise again he grabs her wrist. He shakes his head, grits out the words, "stay. Please," before glowering down at his shoes.

She's surprised the concrete doesn't blister.

"Please," he says it again. "Please help clean me up… Molly."

She frowns suspiciously but moves back to her former position. Takes both disinfectant and cotton swabs from him. Still frowning she kneels- hunkering is too uncomfortable- and takes his chin in her hand, gently turns his head to face her.

As carefully as she can she starts dabbing at the blood, trying to keep her touch light. Tender. _She's not got that much experiencing with treating the living and he's already been hurt today. _She thinks she must be succeeding though because he closes his eyes. Relaxes a little.

Eventually he takes in a deep, calming breath and stops bloody fidgeting.

Once the worst of the blood is gone she takes a cotton swab and carefully dries his skin. He sighs as she does this- such a soft sound- but neither opens his eyes nor makes any comment. When he's clean she leans in closer, runs her fingers delicately over the bridge of his nose, which is already starting to darken. He hisses slightly but leans into her as she does it. He makes no other noise.

"I think this might be broken," she says and he nods absent-mindedly.

"It's not the only thing," he quips and then suddenly he opens his eyes. Stares at her in horror.

She's not entirely sure what could justify that reaction.

"Which is to say, that, that, that my nose is probably fine," he stammers out, shaking his head and backing away from her. "My nose is probably fine, I should, I should get back to Baker Street- John will be wondering where I've gotten to-"

And he makes to stand. No, Molly's fairly certain, he makes to _flee._

She's not entirely clear on why but he's staring at her as if she's summoned up the very Hounds of Hades. She can't understand such a sudden shift in his attitude.

"Sherlock, it's fine," she says soothingly. "It will only take a minute to check and then you can head home- I know today hasn't been fun for you, I just really think I should look at your nose. After all, you just said you thought something else might be broken…"

"I'm sure it's not." And he tries to back away but slips, feet mired in the first aid box's contents. This time though there's someone to catch him and Molly manages to keep them both upright, her hands catching his elbows and holding him straight.

At her touch he pulls away as if scalded, only to slip again and have to kick a small circle of safe, flat surface around him. The coat flaps almost comically about him.

Molly watches, clearly not understanding his being so flustered and eventually he sighs like a martyr. Looks at her.

There's something… flinching in his gaze, for all he tries to hide it.

"Fine!" he says. "Check my nose."

And he straightens, looking like nothing so much as a small boy preparing himself for the horrific experience of having to take his medicine.

Even the Pout of Doom has returned.

She picks her way carefully over to him and tilts his head down to her. Probes his eye-socket, then the bridge of his nose carefully, waiting to hear him hiss in pain or to feel the bones shift slightly beneath her touch. Neither happens.

Instead, after a moment he takes another deep breath. Pitches his voice at that tone she knows he thinks is casual.

Molly decides to treat this sudden reversal with the suspicion it deserves.

"I am sorry, you know," he says quietly. "About- About interrupting. The other night. With the cavem- with um, Logan. And about, about being so difficult these last few months. You know I don't mean it."

He sighs.

"I always seem to end up with something to apologize for, when I'm around you."

And he casts his gaze downwards, the effect bashful this time, no concrete damaged. His hands clasp into fists at his sides, apparently without his noticing them.

He seems to have forced himself to say those last words and Molly could be imagining it, but she thinks he shifts closer to her.

"I just… I just wanted you to be alright," he says. "I wanted to make sure you would be fine. You've helped me so much, and given me so much, and now there's a target painted on your back because of me- I just wanted to make things right."

And he reaches out, strokes an errant lock of hair behind her ear. This time when he begins speaking he opens those electric-blue eyes and focuses them right on her. It has the effect it always has upon her- Namely, that of stealing her breath away. Their gazes lock, her heart starting to beat in treble time but neither of them seem able to break this moment.

This time she knows she's not imagining it- He's definitely moving closer to her.

"And then stupid bloody Mary had to go and call her stupid bloody friend Ororo," he says. "She had to tell Mycroft that his boys weren't good enough, that I couldn't protect you."

She can hear anger-frustration- bleeding into his tone now.

"And then suddenly there's a strange man in your flat and I'm not allowed to come around anymore," Sherlock's saying. "Suddenly he's there and he's looking at you and he's, he's _doing things _and he's not wearing clothes and it's ridiculous, really, is what it is, because why does he need to be there? _Why? _And what sort of stupid name is Logan anyway?"

He moves away from her. Starts to agitatedly pace.

"I'll tell you what sort of stupid name it is," he's saying. "It's the sort of stupid name that people who win arm-wrestling matches and watch NASCAR have. It's the sort of stupid name you give a stupid man who has no idea of how important- how precious- the person he's protecting is. And I tell you, Molly, I tell you that if I had my way- If I had my way-"

"If you had your way, what, Sherlock?"

She says the words, breath held as she waits for him to answer.

"If I had my way you just would have followed the original plan and come to stay in Baker Street," he snaps. "If I had my way you'd already be over this tedious fling and safe with me.

"And if I had my way I would have already worked out how to tell you how I feel. _And_ I'd have worked out how to make you like me again. Because, yes, I know I should have already but I tell you, woman, this feelings business is a great deal more complicated than John bloody-well makes it out to be and I know he's my best friend but he's being a bloody idiot about this-I mean it, his advice is absolutely crap-"

Molly frowns. Tries to catch up with what he's saying. _He can't be- He can't __**want**__-_

He looks at her, eyes practically flaming in his head and she realises with a sudden, delighted jolt that he does.

_Somewhere in the middle of that rant was the news that he wants her._

Sherlock must figure out as much too because he shuts his mouth abruptly with a audible snap. Again he looks like he'd rather like to flee. For a moment they both just stare at one another, neither able to believe what he's said or willing to deal with what it might mean. But then-

Slowly, carefully, Molly takes his face in her hands, tilts his head down. She places one hand at his hip for balance and then she snogs him (to use the technical term) Good And Bloody Proper. (She's rather relived she manages not to hurt his nose.) For a split second he hesitates, lips uninvolved, unsure what to do apparently. But then-

Much to her delight, the Great Detective finally takes the bloody hint. Wraps his arms around her tightly and snogs her Good And Bloody Proper back. And then he whoops and tells her that she's wonderful and that of course he was right to become besotted with her and this was his actual plan all along-

She lets him get away with this claim because she already knew he was a git. She also knows she's mad about him.

They spend the next hour on that roof, high above London, and though it starts raining eventually nothing can destroy the high they feel.


End file.
